Shallow Hopes
by LissaChasesQuaffles
Summary: A Tom fic, because he's a pretty neglected character. One day, while working at Bethlem, Tom meets an unexpected person. Beautiful, sad, and haunting, she seems to be the one person who can truly change him. But will he let her? Set between AGATB & RA. A


Bethlem Royal Hospital was pristine; she didn't know what else she had been expecting. Perhaps grey hallways, nurses equipped with syringes with long needles and brightly colored fluids. Instead, Rosemarie Calloway found herself in a hospital that resembled more of an exclusive English London club. It was bright, airy even, and filled with plants that hung from the ceiling, spilling over to brush gentle tendrils across the top of her tall fathers' head. Only the mumblings of lost minds gave the place away for what it really was.

"Rosie, mind you don't talk of anything that might scare her," Mrs. Calloway said, giving her daughter's arm a light squeeze. "Your sister is in a very delicate condition after the…well…accident."

"I know, mother," Rosie sighed.

"Be courteous to the staff, dear, especially Mr. Doyle. They're very kind to accept Emily under the circumstances."

"Yes, mother," Rosie conceded. "I am aware."

A nurse approached the trio with a tight smile.

"You must be the Calloways, come to see Emily." She said briskly.

"Yes," Mr. Calloway said. "Thank you."

The nurse nodded stiffly.

"Right this way, please."

With her mother's arm still linked through hers, Rosie followed, ignoring the single black curl that had escaped its pin to dangle irritatingly in her navy blue eyes.

They entered a large room where a parrot in a cage squawked

"Find a new course! A new course! I am a great poet! Stick to the path!" Over and over again.

"It's really quite nice here," Mrs. Calloway said naively to her daughter; Rosie had to close her eyes to keep them from rolling. Only her mother could find a place as morbid as this inviting. She nodded through a bubble of anger that her mother had not even bothered to tour the hospital that would most likely house her sister for the rest of her life.

"Yes," Rosie said instead. "Quite nice."

It wouldn't do to strain her parents in public, especially not so soon after her sister's accident. Rosie wasn't sure how much more they could take. She was a daughter of England, and it was her duty to be, at least for now, compliant.

"Here she is," the nurse said at last, leading the three to a couch where Emily Calloway stared with blank eyes at the knitting needles in her lap, wound over with thick blue yarn.

"Mr. Doyle will come and speak to you as soon as he can. Good day."

The Calloway trio murmured an echo of "good-day"s in return before returning their attention to Emily.

"Hello darling," Mrs. Calloway murmured, taking Emily's thin hand in her plump one. Emily stared at the hand blankly and then pulled hers away. Rosie watched in horror as her mother's eyes filled with tears. Mrs. Calloway turned to her husband. Emily whimpered, blinked twice and then, finally, looked to Rosie.

"Emmy?" Rosie whispered, hoping against hope that the spark of recognition in her sister's eyes was not simply a figment of her imagination.

"Rosie? Rosie, I'm so scared," Emily whispered, her voice cracked and sore. Tears pooled in her eyes as she reached for her sister. "They're coming for me, Rosie," Emily continued. "They're coming for me! And I can't get away! They're coming…"

Rosie bustled around the couch to perch next to her sister, and pulled her frail body into her arms. Emily frantically wrapped her own arms around her sister's waist and clasped her tight.

"Hush, Emmy. They won't hurt you now. Mother and father and I won't allow it."

Rosie's trembling fingers ran through her little sister's soft, dark curls soothingly. "You're safe, now," she murmured.

A man cleared his throat, and Rosie looked up, lifting her cheek from the top of her sister's head.

"Hello," the newly arrived man said to the little family. "My name is Thomas Doyle. I am the doctor assigned to Miss. Calloway's case."

He smiled broadly, thought Rosie could tell it was rather faked. He caught her eye, and a corner of his mouth curved up a bit more, becoming slightly more genuine. For propriety's sake Rosie looked away.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Doyle.. I am William Calloway. This is my wife, Mrs. Elizabeth Calloway, and our eldest daughter Miss. Rosemarie Calloway."

"A pleasure to meet all of you. I trust you find Bethlem to your liking? I can assure you that Miss. Calloway is receiving the best care."

Emily sniffed, pressing her forehead to her sister's neck.

"It's alright, Emmy," Rosie whispered. "You know Mr. Doyle, hmm? You're just fine."

She could feel the young doctor's eyes on the back of her neck. Studying her, though Rosie couldn't decipher the reason.

"She recognizes you," Thomas Doyle said. "That's a good sign."

Mr. Calloway cleared his throat.

"It's only Rosie she remembers," he corrected. "She shied away from my wife and I earlier."

Mr. Doyle nodded.

"I'm sorry to say this, Mr. Calloway, but the fact that she remembers even her sister alone is surprising. She shut down completely after the trauma. She may recognize you after at time, and she may not."

He sighed, and a lock of hair fell into his eyes. "Of course, there is also the unfortunate possibility that she may…backslide."

"What would that mean, Mr. Doyle?" Rosie asked, her blue eyes wide and serious. He returned her gaze for a moment before he replied.

"It means, Miss. Calloway, that your sister may revert to the condition she originally came to us; unable to speak, control fine muscle functions, understand facial expressions, and raving."

Rosie looked at him, horrified, and held her sister closer. Emily toyed with the curl that had once again fallen out of place. Realizing this, Thomas Doyle's eyes widened, and he rushed to respond.

"We're doing everything in our power to prevent her from reverting," he said. "The only thing you can do now is pray that she responds."

Of course, the real pressure behind his quick reply was that it might lose him a customer, but it may have seemed, in that instant, as if he was worried for her emotional state. And perhaps, beneath it all, some part of materialistic Tom truly was upset.

He sat with the Calloways for a while, amazed at the closeness that survived between the two sisters despite Emily's madness, and the distance between everyone else. So it wasn't just his family that had problems, Tom thought with a grim sense of satisfaction. They weren't the only ones trying to tread through life's waters without being bitten by sharks in the process.

Three hours passed slowly, with nothing more eventful happening than one resident, Mrs. Grey, going into a fit of hysterics on the other side of the room, screaming about needing to "defeat the Spaniards." No one quite knew what was wrong with her, but they suspected she thought herself Elizabeth I. Her talk of "middle ways" and screams of "Not the tower, please!" brought about such suspicions. Besides such delusions, the old lady was perfectly sane, if slightly frightening.

Rosie sighed and looked down at her sister's face; Emily was sleeping peacefully against her shoulder. Rosie smiled, letting her hand rest on her sister's head. Her parents murmured to each other in low voices, sipping tea the hospital provided; Rosie's sat cold on the table before her, whose sharps edges had been padded by cloth.

"Mr. Doyle?" She asked softly, looking at him steadily through her dark blue eyes. Tom looked up from his papers and raised his eyebrows, inviting her question.

"My sister…is there any possibility that she'll ever be whole again?"

He looked at her, then at the sleeping girl beside her. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"We never rule recovery out completely," he said diplomatically. "But in most cases that come through Bethlem, especially major trauma cases like your sisters, complete recovery hardly ever happens."

Rosie nodded, biting her lower lip gently.

"Rosie," Mrs. Calloway said suddenly, "We really should be going. We must begin our preparations for the Worthington's summer ball."

Rosie felt a surge of embarrassment at her mother's obvious attempt to flaunt the invitation before the Bethlem doctor.

"Will you be attending, then," Tom asked, peering at them keenly. Rosie looked to her mother, who nodded.

"Oh yes, Mr. Doyle. The Worthingtons are good friends of ours."

And that was not a complete lie, Rosie realized with a start. They had been to quite a few dinner parties held by the distinguished family. Rosie had never cared for any of them; they were all very haughty, and the girl seemed only power hungry and imperious. Rosie couldn't stand even a moment in conversation with Felicity Worthington.

"Will you be attending, Mr. Doyle?" Mrs. Calloway asked, watching with mild disdain as a nurse picked Emily up off the couch and carried her off to her room.

"I don't rightly know, Mrs. Calloway," Thomas Doyle said with a smile. "I suppose it all depends on if they need me here in Bethlem on that night."

He walked with them to the door, glancing out at the newly pouring rain as he watched their carriage pull up the long drive. He watched them step on, wondering if he would ever see them again, and scheming ways to win the eldest daughter for a wife; he was what he had been looking for, he decided. She was young, pretty, healthy, and had at least a small fortune tagged onto her; the Worthingtons didn't invite just anyone to their balls. You had to have some kind of fortune to be entertained by that family. The Doyles had indeed been invited, but with his father in such condition, it would most likely be only him to attend. No matter; it wouldn't do to have a sick father, clasping a laudanum bottle, to come and ruin his plans.


End file.
